Guiding Prophet, Silent Enemy
by LadyRavena
Summary: Komani is demanding that off-worlders leave, and for the execution of the leaders of the local Imperial garrison and embassy." … And they had an Imperial Grand Admiral missing with an execution happy madman running loose. Features Thrawn, Parck, Niriz R
1. Prologue

Title: Guiding Prophet, Silent Enemy

**Title: **Guiding Prophet, Silent Enemy

**Author: **ladyravena

**Rating: **R, just to be safe. (or PG-16?)

**Warnings: **Non-explicit death scenes of non-canon characters

**Word Count: **around 9,000

**Betaed by: **Curiouskitty, ebonymoonblade

**Summary: **"Komani is demanding that off-worlders leave, and for the execution of the leaders of the local Imperial garrison and embassy." … And they had an Imperial Grand Admiral missing with an execution happy madman running loose.

**A/N: **Instant promotion to the first cadet who recognizes who the shuttle party is in tribute to. Hint: think red.

Also, when researching this, I ran across a factiod: the Mayan people, to bring the life giving rain that is represented by the colour blue, would paint their victims blue. Just an FYI. 

**Prologue: Then**

_He made every effort not to move anything; each muscle's dull ache needed no helping hand to nova into agony. It was a challenge—not so much the sitting still, but trying not to work at the cords cutting off the feeling in his hands or the coarse cloth making it agony to breathe. The less he moved, the less he hurt, and the more he could overhear and observe his captors._

_The resistance leader had spoke to him at great length, preaching of his glorious calling to free his people. How, with the prophet's guidance, he would lead his people to their rightful place as rulers of their world, destroying the plague of Imperials that refused to fight with their soldiers, reducing them cannon fodder. How, at the dawn's cleansing light, he would sacrifice his captive enemy leader to assure victory for his cause. How…._

_….beneath the rhetoric, there were clues to this leader's tactics and preferences. Dawn attacks, frontal leadership, generals managing in the back…valuable intelligence that could prove useful to defeating them._

_Presuming, of course, that he survived the ritual beheading at dawn. _


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Now

**Chapter One: Now**

The Imperial Star Destroyer _Admonitor_ cruised steadily through hyperspace, the starlines straight-lined past the bridge viewports. The starlines almost matched the pristine gray-white of the bridge, complementing each other nicely.

"Status report completed, sir," a young lieutenant reported from the portside crew pit. "All systems fully functional. All personnel at the ready."

"Thank you, lieutenant," Captain Dagon Niriz said, turning away from the viewport. He ran a practiced eye across the bridge crew, noticing a subtle straightening spine, a quicker keystroke, a furrowed brow. It had taken quite a bit longer than he had hoped, but the crew was finally melding well enough to start anticipating problems and solving them _before_ they came to his attention. It made his job much easier, especially the paper work that a captain had to put up with.

Niriz loathed paperwork.

But the man coming across the bridge from one of the communication stations enjoyed it, so Niriz felt no guilt in giving away more and more of the dreaded work to his first officer. Commander Voss Parck nodded to the captain. "General Habanero is readying his squadron of troops and support personnel in the shuttlebay. He should be prepared by the time we reach orbit."

"Good. I don't want this continuing on any longer than necessary. It is bad enough that these local rebels attempted to kill one of the leaders of this world –"

""The Junior Overlord died from his wounds, after all."

"Wonderful," Niriz snarled. "They also had to kill the garrison leader and half a squad of stormtroopers. If these idiots are trying for anarchy, they are going about it the right way."

The ship gave a subtle lurch as the starlines faded into remote pinpoints of light. Ahead of them, the planet Ansi rotated around the far yellow sun, Nosai. The green world, full of forests and farmland, was ideal for the food production necessary to support the growing Imperial presence. Having a political madman ruining the world was inconvenient at best, a reason for hungry, disgruntled troops at worse. They wouldn't starve, but other worlds would have to pick up the excess, meaning revolts and forced labor.

"I doubt, Captain," said a deep, cultured voice behind them, "that this Komani's goal is anarchy." Admiral Thrawn stepped up behind the two officers, surveying both the planet and the bridge with his luminescent eyes. Finding everything fit, he turned to the two men. "I also doubt that he has any plan in place if he should manage to take power. Has Habanero checked in yet?"

"He should be ready as soon as we get down to the shuttle bay," Parck reported, checking his chronometer. "Will you be joining the admiral, Captain?"

Niriz snorted and shook his head. "As you know, _Commander_, I am still on half-days from the last planet fall disaster. I am sure that you miss the fresh air of primitive worlds, so enjoy on my behalf."

Parck noticed the slight smile on their commander's face, and nodded. "Perhaps I shall, after the admiral and General Habanero secure the planet. Enjoy a little shore leave. The forests are said to be excellent for hiking."


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Striding onto the bridge, Niriz took in the atmosphere of the bridge before barking out, "Report!"

Parck looked up from the screen that he was studying. "We are receiving a distress signal from our outpost on the opposite side of the planet. They report that there are several squadrons of fighters, and large ships destroying any of our squadrons that try to get in the air."

Niriz scowled. "Any word from the admiral's party?"

Parck nodded, stepping up beside him. "Should be another couple of hours worth of talks, the General doesn't see them leaving any time soon. These people certainly like to discuss every single possibility."

"Advise the general that we will be out of communication range while we dealing with this situation." Niriz turned to the crew pit and began giving orders.

The talks were over, assurances given of Imperial support, the garrison restocked and briefed on the latest rebellion. There had been no sign of any attack, which pleased both the local government, and Thrawn. _Not so brave_, he mused, _as to attack head on. Reasonable to assume, then, that he does not have the support that he claims, if he will not attack during talks between two heads of military and four government representatives, an ideal target for any rebellion leader._

The general was waiting for them when their landspeeder settled beside the shuttle. "General Habanero, report," Thrawn ordered, stepping onto the launch pad.

"No sign of rebels near the shuttle pads, or on the edge of the city, sir. The new forest stormtroopers are continuing to search outward, following trails that locals claim the rebel forces use. No results, as of yet.

"Captain Niriz took the _Admonitor_ to the far side of the planet to deal with a rebel air strike approximately 2 standard hours ago, and has been out of communications range for just over an hour, sir."

Thrawn nodded as they made their way to the shuttle's ramp. Several troops and personnel were waiting there to return with him to the Admonitor, silent and patient. The pilot was already priming the ship, awaiting final orders for course. "Have all personnel board the shuttle. We'll return to orbit and await the Admonitor from space. The garrison is under your command, General."

"Sir."

Making his way into the cockpit, the admiral noticed that both the flight engineer's and gunner's stations were unoccupied. _Reasonable for this flight_, he thought, _but certainly not optimum for performance._ Lieutenant Commander Remmick was already seated behind the pilot, running over status reports. The pilot was unfamiliar to him, a serious looking young woman, which was a rarity in the Imperial forces.

"Lieutenant Scott, sir, pilot, at your command. Orders, sir?"

Thrawn nodded to her. "Bring us to the _Admonitor_'s previous orbit, Lieutenant." He settled into the co-pilot's station, eyeing the board readouts. Everything in perfect working order, as he expected.

"Yes, sir." A few minutes later, she brought them smoothly off the ground, traveling in atmosphere for a short time to prime all systems.

The ship listed slightly, Thrawn could feel. Looking over his own board, he instantly found the problem. Scott, too, had felt the slight list and pull, and seemed to be making every effort to get the starboard engines to compensate for the retro-thrust engine's malfunction. An excellent pilot, he thought, to tell such a small problem from the usual atmospheric disturbances.

Scott turned to ready over the instrument panels in front of her, frowning slightly. "Sir," she reported, "we have a malfunction in the starboard deflector shields. We are at 25 power over the hyperdrive field projector, optimum on all others."

"Noted, Lieutenant. When we reach the _Admonitor,_ keep the port side facing any hostile-- " As he spoke, Thrawn heard a deafening screech of stressed metal, felt the ship buck under his hands …

…saw the status board go red before his head made contact with it, darkening his vision.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Lieutenant Commander Dexter Remmick scanned the wreckage of the Lambda-class shuttle with a practiced eye. The remains of the starboard wing were scattered across the last 30 feet of their decent in the tree line, including the bodies of Ensigns Dern and Rizzo. The twisted metal appeared to be no stronger than cooking foil from a distance, wrapped completely around the trunk of one large specimen that had seen its fair share of winters.

The landing struts weren't much better, he noticed as he crouched for a closer look. They had caught the turf easily, ripping out chunks before slowing the craft to a halt. The starboard strut had been lost immediately after being lowered, making it back into the forest a good half-mile.

He had managed to stay awake, and alive, for the entire landing, but not everyone had been so lucky. Lieutenant Marple had been torn from his harness and crashed into the far wall of the passenger area, but was otherwise unhurt. Ensign Haskell and Chilton had been roughed up, but were in relatively good shape. Scott, the pilot, had brought the craft in well, despite a gash across her forehead that drenched her face in blood. All in all, it had been a good crash landing from being fired upon and hit both in the rear gun-turret power feed and the starboard hyperdrive field projector. They were lucky they hadn't exploded on impact when the fuel tanks cracked after hitting a massive stone outcropping.

The Grand Admiral, however, had been ripped free of his harness. He had crashed headfirst into the controls that he had been working, knocking him unconscious, with enough swelling to worry the Lieutenant Commander. He had tried to wake the alien commander, fearing a concussion, but had been unable to. Checking for other injuries, he and Lieutenant Hendorff had concluded there weren't any, and had gingerly moved their commanding officer off the shuttle. Just because she hadn't gone up after hitting the ground didn't mean she wouldn't. Remmick had no intention of being blown up as he sat waiting for help to arrive.

The trees above him were swaying gently in the midmorning breeze, softly rustling to themselves. The leaves flecked the light to the forest floor where he lay, staring into the canopy above him. There were at least three distinct species of trees, deciduous and coniferous blending to make a seamless tapestry of leaves and needles. The waving was soothing, he thought to himself, watching in passive thoughts…

_Trees?_ Frowning, he made to sit up, only to have a pair of hands press him back down on his back onto the hard forest floor. "Take it easy, sir," a voice above him said. "You hit the instrument panel pretty hard when we crashed. We're trying to find a med-pack that survived the wreckage."

"What happened, lieutenant --" he rasped, throat dry.

"Lieutenant Hendorff, sir," the young man identified himself. "What do you remember, sir?"

Thrawn frowned, recalling. "We had left the city, and took the shuttle back up…we were up for a few minutes at least… someone fired at us."  
The lieutenant nodded. "Yes, sir. Someone fired at us, and hit the shuttle. Your harness broke and your head hit the controls. You've been unconscious for over an hour."

Which would explain why it felt like something was trying to ram its way out of his skull, making the world spin around him, even lying down. There was every chance that he had a concussion, or a cracked skull, despite what his officers may think of him personally.

A whirling noise brought his eyes open again, to see another lieutenant running a hand medical scanner over him. Lieutenant Stadi ran the scanner once more over his head, shaking her own. "Hairline fracture, and concussion. I would recommend that we get him to the nearest city immediately. With the comm taken out, it could be hours before the _Admonitor_ will send another shuttle."

Remmick nodded. "The city limits can't be more than 3 hours away. I'll take four of the troops ahead, marking the trail, and the rest of you can follow at a more appropriate pace. Do what you can for him; I'm leaving you in charge."

As they moved through the forest, Thrawn felt that there was something slowly going wrong. Lieutenant Stadi kept to his side, supporting half of his weight with her own 6-foot frame. Lieutenant Marple held him up on the other. The forest was too dense for a stretcher to be useful, so, with frequent breaks, they followed the trail that Remmick had left.

Which was the first part of his uneasiness. Twice, that he could tell, the markers weren't where they were supposed to be, evenly spaced. Once, he could see a local avian snatching the bright cloth for nesting material. Twice inside of 20 minutes, not so much, though still plausible, especially if it were possessing a higher level intelligence than average avian, like the pests on Nirauan…

"Sir!"

Thrawn shook his head a bit, realizing that he was dozing off again. "Lieutenant," he managed, blinking tired eyes. Even with the field kit's stock of painkillers and anti-nausea medicines in him, he was still drifting off, eyes closed against the spinning world around him. It took prompting from both Stadi and Marple to keep him awake.

The second problem, he mused, involved the shrinking guard that they seem to have. Although the two lieutenants always kept the matter quiet from him, no doubt in deference to the wounds he had sustained from the crash, the fact that there was a different guard at the front every half-hour spoke volumes. Someone was systematically picking their party down to size. Which made him wonder what had happened to Remmick and the troopers he had taken with him…

"Emperor's black bones," Marple hissed, startling him awake again. As his two lifters settled him down on a fallen log, he looked past them to see what had caused the outburst.

Strewn across a small clearing were the troops that Remmick had taken with him, shot through with arrows and cleaved by various blunt weapons. Remmick himself had several of the alien's bodies around his own, obviously having taken a few with him.

"How far from the landing pads are we, Lieutenant Hendorff?" Stadi asked, standing still amongst the corpses.

"At our current pace, another 2 hours."

Stadi nodded, picking up a blaster from the ground beside one trooper. "Let's try to make it an hour."


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Marple dropped silently beside him, eyes closing slowly. Closing his own eyes for a moment, Thrawn inched further behind the fallen tree, visualizing the positions of the snipers, keeping a stormtrooper's blaster close.

The situation was not good. Only Lieutenant Stadi remained alive, hidden behind the closest tree, blaster held close. The others of their shuttle party lay dead, either at the crash or strewn throughout the forest. At the end, their hunters hadn't waited for the members to become separated, but picked them off while still together.

Now the landing area was barely within sight, and there were at least three snipers with blasters between. Another hunter was moving amongst the trees, armed with a nasty crossbow that had no problem punching through armor.

Shifting against the tree, Thrawn eased his way left around the tree, trying to bring out one of the attackers. Stadi watched the forest closely, blaster raised to pick one off. Inching again, his eyes scanned the forest …

"Down, sir!"

A flurry of blaster fire ensued, ending as quickly as it had started. Raising himself slowly from the forest floor, he watched as Stadi slipped to ground, dead from several shots. He sighed softly, and missed the soft click of a bolt being brought back into place. Inching around the tree again, he scanned the trees ahead—

--and bit back a scream as an arrow impaled his right shoulder, punching through the armor effortlessly under the uniform. Dropping the blaster from nerveless fingers, he collapsed to the ground as the rebels stepped out of the shadows, blasters raised against him.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

Captain Niriz could see the young researcher standing by the doors to the bridge, waiting to speak with him. He gave her a slight nod and returned his attention the hologram in front of him. The locally elected leader was still spouting gibberish at him. "We are deeply sorry for your loss, Captain Niriz, but as my assistant informed you, there were no survivors of the crash."

Parck, standing behind him, snorted. "I understand that, Overseer," Niriz said, reining in his own temper. "However, there were 20 of my crew on that shuttle, along with the Grand Admiral. There were only 2 bodies found at the crash site, and 3 more in the surrounding area. That leaves 16 people, including the admiral, unaccounted for."

The overseer nodded, "However, they could have been killed in the explosion of the craft after it had landed, or been ejected during the crash…" The crash they had just been informed of by the general. After dealing easily with the air strike and the mopping up action, the _Admonitor_ returned to frantic hails, detailing crash information. No one had been found alive at the crash site, but tracks led into the forest. With the presence of rebels, it was probably smarter for them to have left the crash site, especially after it blew up.

Niriz's fists clenched behind his back as he made eye contact with Parck, glancing at the impatient researcher inching her way up the walkway. With a slight nod, Commander Parck stepped over to the young researcher.

"Yes, lieutenant? You have the background report for this world?"

"Yes, sir," she answered. "The planet has been centrally ruled by an elected overseer for a little over a hundred standard years, although most of the country-dwellers have seen little in the way of progress. Old timers still rule in regional councils, and often flout central laws. In the last 2 years, there have been numerous attempts at rebellion, all but the last being firmly suppressed by both the government and local authorities. The last, lead by a being named Komani, is calling for a rejection of all modern thought, custom, and aid. His followers, however, are not opposed to using technology if it aids his cause. Komani is demanding that off-worlders leave, and for the execution of the leaders of the local Imperial garrison and embassy."

Parck grimaced. And they had an Imperial Grand Admiral missing with an execution happy madman running loose. "Thank you, lieutenant. That will be all."

"We are running against a time limit as well, sir."

Parck nodded. "I am well aware of the statistics, lieutenant, of missing –"

The researcher interrupted him. "No, sir, that's not what I was referring to. The Ansi-nosai used to ritually '_take in_' their enemy's leaders. If this rebel Komani captured the admiral, then we have less than 2 days to find him."

Parck frowned and turned fully to face the young woman. "Take in?" he repeated, frowning. "Surely the aren't going to try and convert him to their side?" He almost wanted to be there when they tried.

"No, they'll consume him, sir."

Parck stared at her.

"Sir," she explained, "the Ansi-nosai would, in ancient times, sacrifice an enemy leader at dawn to a local deity, carving various organs out of the still living offering, although some areas preferred ritual beheading of a captive that tried to escape. The leader will then consume his enemy to gain the other's strengths. Heart for courage, brain for cunning, eyes for foresight into an enemy. It's quite common in low-tech civilizations," she added as an after thought.

"I am not about to allow them to make an entire banquet out of the genius that is Grand Admiral Thrawn," Parck ground out, trying not to visualize _anything_. "We have the crash location. We'll simply have to speed our search with more teams, which I will lead myself."

"Good idea, Commander," Niriz said, coming to stand with them. "The Overseer has given us permission to land another 3 shuttles to 'look for the earthly of remains of our beloved leader' so long as we realize after 5 days the folly of looking for incinerated bodies that died in the crash." He shook his head, and added wryly, "So long as we don't hunt something called an _ahtaygio_, which is a sacred animal, we are free to search anywhere we like in our misguided, but loyal, search."


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

The cords the hunters had tied him with were finally starting to loosen around his wrists, after being worked every time they stopped to rest for the last 3 hours.. His attackers had been swift to bind him, twisting his injured arm behind his back, before force marching him deeper into the forest. As they passed back down the trail, he did not spot any of the bodies of his crew. Obviously the rebels were trying to hide their trail from pursuit.

The dampness on the cords was sweat, he hoped, but it could have just as easily have been blood. A few more good tugs, and they would be gone. All he could do was to wait for the best time to slip off.

It came an hour later, as they settled down in a grove of trees and rocks. Both of the tracker/guards had settled down a few trees away, passing a water skin between them. The archers were curled around a low-pitted fire, and the guide was off in the brush, scouting out their back trail, trying to erase it. No one was paying him any attention.

Slowly, he pulled the last of the cords loose, sliding them off his wrists. Even slower, he eased around the large trunk, watching for the slightest move on the guards part. His years of hunting during his exile may have been well over a decade ago, but he still remembered how to move silently through the forest. As it had rained recently, the forest floor was still damp, muffling sound well.

No one raised the alarm. He picked up his pace, silently cursing the white uniform of his rank. The olive would have been bad enough, but would not have stood out like a Jawa on the snow plains. He kept moving in one direction, directionally opposite of the fading sun. He didn't know the forest, or the terrain, so he was not about to take a more winding path and get completely lost with a head and shoulder wound. Moving slowly down a narrow incline, he inched around the next tree-

- to face the ancient barrel of a firearm, attached to one of the trackers. When he shifted slightly, testing the soil beneath his feet, the tracker shoved the barrel under his chin. Another stepped around the trees, leveled another weapon at him, and called out, "Komani!"

Both of the trackers kept their eyes and weapons aimed at him as an unknown alien walked up. Dressed in ceremonial white robes, he was as tall as Thrawn himself. It was as if the forest was a throne room, with the way he carried himself, regal and proud. The alien's feet were clad only in sandals, covered in gold leaf, the only ornament save a bronze pendant with some significant symbol he traced with a long finger.

"I," he stated clearly in Basic, "am Komani."

He waited for a response, and when none was forthcoming he smiled. "Silent defiance. A good trait for the leader of an army." He continued to smile, looking over the admiral. "Kasim will be pleased with you, but we cannot have you leaving our presence before you meet him in his elated court." Gesturing to the second tracker, he stepped aside. Both arms yanked back, Thrawn could feel new cords being wrapped around his crossed wrists tighter than before.

As the barrels of the weapons were dropped, Komani stepped close again and placed a hand on his injured shoulder. "Pain is a gift telling us we live on the mortal plane." He grasped the remnants of the arrow's shaft and swiftly twisted it further into the wound in the blue flesh. It went past the shattered bone pieces and poked out the back of the shoulder blade, the tip just pushing through the blue skin and white uniform.

Thrawn dropped to his knees, despite himself gasping in pain as fresh blood began to drip from the wound, the world spinning anew.

As the two trackers picked him up, wrenching the wound again, and started back toward the camp, Komani added, "Remember to bind his feet and gag him this time, my allies."

As the forest-troopers spread out further from the crash site, Parck was quietly dealing with the small part of his mind that was realizing just how _large_ a forest could be. He had always had a good time on the survival trips at the academy, and enjoyed hiking as he had teased Niriz, but this was something entirely different. Lives were at risk, both the admiral's and his troops who were wandering around with no help from the regional government.

Oh, they had been happy to let the Imperials search, but no guides were offered. Guidance to the realization that their commanding office was dead did not come from without, it came from within. Grief was best dealt with sooner, before walls could build around the best of men's souls…

Parck had wanted to punch him. So, too, had troop leader Colonel Vivisoma who was searching to the south and west. Habanero was searching to the north, questioning towns folk as he went. Training kept the tight smile, the courteous words. The firing range on the ship would deal with the rest later.

"Sir!" One of the forest-troopers called his attention to the far edge of the clearing they were in. Standing in front of the trees, a group of hunters watched them. All four of them were garbed in well-worn hunter's attire, greens and browns in contrast to the offensively bright city dwellers.

"Good day," Parck called, slowly walking toward them. "I am Commander Parck, of the _Admonitor_. Do any of you speak Basic?"

None of them responded, but the three males looked to the lone woman amongst them, as though in guidance.

"Sy Bysti?" Parck tried, haltingly. Despite Thrawn's excellent tutelage, he still wasn't that comfortable with the trade language of the Unknown Region. _And to think_, he mused, _Thrawn has a fluent grasp of over 8 languages, and smatterings of several more._ The man was a finely tuned sponge for knowledge of any kind.

"Basic is fine," the woman said. "You don't speak Sy Bysti well." It was a statement, not a judgement.

"I'm afraid not, no. We are looking for our shipmates who were in the crash and have gone missing. Would you know anything about that?"

The oldest of the men nodded. "Saw the shot and the crash. Surprised there's still a ship left."

"Good piloting, sir. Did you see anything that might help us in our search?"

The other men nodded, not saying anything until the women spoke. "Tracks leading eastward, deeper into the forest," the young hunter said. She looked around the clearing, seeming to sneer slightly at the troopers moving noisily about the underbrush. "We could show you, if you wish."  
"I would like that very much, yes," Parck said, wondering just why she would do so, but knowing better than to refuse any aid in a strange place in a situation that had a time limit as sensitive as this one.

"Gather your men, then, Commander." With that, she turned to her companions, muttering in her own language, shifting the contents of their packs amongst themselves.

"Interesting," the troop commander muttered as they commed the troops.

"Helpful," Parck corrected. "And the only help that we've received so far." Help, he thought, that was desperately needed.

"You seem very comfortable out here," Parck commented, trying to draw the leader of the hunting party out. She had said all of 6 words to him in the last few hours. She had asked no questions, other than a description of the admiral, and where they had already looked.

One of the other hunters laughed. "You would be, too, if this is where dinner came from." He smiled at Parck's half formed question. "The crops don't bring in enough money for feasts, Commander. We supplement our crops with the local wildlife. Senyca here is our village's best tracker and hunter. I'm Harryss, by the way."

"Lucky," she said, moving ahead of the group to survey the broken shrubbery.

"I'm grateful that they could spare you for our search, now that your winter is coming on in a few weeks," Parck said, catching up to her.

"Your troops," she said, turning to face him, "have scared away 10 miles of prey. As soon as you are gone, we'll be able to feed our families and stockpile for the winter again." She turned and continued down the path that only she seemed to be able to find in the deepening twilight. They continued on, stopping to make camp only when there wasn't enough light to see by.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

Thrawn awoke from his half doze when the two guards dropped him heavily to the cobbled path. Since trying to escape the evening before, they had kept him bound hand and foot, choosing to carry him rather than having him walk or attempt to run. Much of the path was a blur, moving through darkened forests and ancient waterbeds that only a skilled tracker would be able to follow. After a time, blood loss and exhaustion, as well as dehydration, had slipped him into a half conscious state.

Komani knelt beside him, aiding him to kneel on the hard stones, gesturing grandly around. "The Temple of Kasim, the Shining One. It is here, Silent Enemy, that we learn the god's will and follow their teachings."

Thrawn raised tired eyes to look at his surroundings in the morning light, noticing the raised stone temple, and temporary huts, as hunters would make on their journeys. The most telling feature, to his eyes, was the lack of a wall around the temple grounds. The plain grasses, cut short or trampled in places, blended seamlessly into the forest a few hundred feet away. The stone path that he was on also disappeared into the forest. Easy enough, he mused, to mount an attack from the safety of the trees, first taking out the patrol of sentries that guarded the edges.

"You will learn much, Silent Enemy," Komani added, gesturing for two new attendants to lift him up. "I will show the way."

"They stopped here."

Parck moved up to her side, looking around the small clearing, noting the multitude of prints. "How far ahead are they?"

"They were hear last evening, as the sun set. They are not travelling that quickly. There was rain before then." She motioned to the base of the largest tree. "Your admiral was injured."

Instead of asking how she had deduced that, Parck crouched down. He instantly saw what had caught her practiced eye: dried blood caked the lower bark and the ground around the roots was liberally sprinkled with dried crimson droplets. "There'd be a lot more blood if it was from a fatal wound," Harryss commented, leaning down. "There are droplets scattered for a few hundred feet off in that direction," he added, gesturing eastward. "So he must have been moved…."

"Or tried to escape and was brought back," Parck said, picking up a piece of frayed cord. "Either way, corpses don't continue to drip that long. He was alive."

The questions were over for the moment. He had no doubt that the rebel leader would be back. Komani seemed like a man who could worry a stone into dust, should the need arise. A silent Chiss admiral, while frustrating, would be a challenge to crack, and a threat to his authority amongst his followers.

The topics were predictable. Tactics, plans, army statistics, the usual questions that he expected, and would not be answering. Even as Komani became quieter, and his second in command, Quaashie, became more frustrated with his inability to pummel a response out of the alien, Thrawn simply refused to speak.

The second phase had begun, when you left the prisoner alone, in his case re-gagged and still bound tightly, to contemplate his fate and reflect on the issue of living through the experience. Left leaning against the wall of the room they had locked him in, he kept his eyes closed against the lantern light. The medications had worn off several hours before they had arrived at the temple, judging by the way the room swirled around him…

The hand, fleeting against the fabric of his left shoulder, bolted him awake. Eyes snapping open, he saw an elderly being shrink back from him. He brought his breathing back under control, not moving an inch. They stayed that way, staring at each other, both as startled as the other. Looking at her, she seemed the proverbial old wise woman of the village; a servant and, in some ways, a burden to the old-fashioned villagers. Kept for her knowledge, and to do tasks that no one else would do.

After a few moments, she inched back toward him. Trembling hands reached around his head, fumbled with the cloth ends, until they loosened and slipped from between his jaws. He remained frozen, watching as she laid the cloth neatly in her lap. She twisted around to lift a bowl of liquid closer, pulling a ladle out of a pouch that hung from around her waist. Dipping it into the bowl, she lifted it toward him.

For a moment, he thought of refusing. The chance of poison, when he was to be sacrificed, was slim. He doubted that Komani had access to truth drugs, but there was always local variations…plants that, once dissolved, worked similarly…would they work on a Chiss…

Overriding it all was the simple equation: you can survive weeks with no food, days without water.

Letting the cold liquid slide down his throat, he could taste nothing in the clear fluid, only the metallic stoniness of a stone well or spring river. Each swallow ripped his throat even farther, but eased the throbbing in his veins. Trying to remember when he had last swallowed anything save screams threatened to bring the throbbing back.

All too soon, she had emptied the bowl, and replaced the ladle in her pouch. Her hands, having steadied as he did nothing but accept the water, now began to shake again as she lifted the cloth to replace it.

There was no point in fighting it. Still bound hand and foot, unable to even loosen these cords, with the world spinning and guards no doubt outside the door, there was nothing to be gained. Even if he was free, he wouldn't get more than 20 feet before being captured again. Better to behave, and wait for the best time than ruin all on hopelessness. He opened his mouth enough so that she could slide the cloth back, lowering his head slightly for her to retie the edges. She bowed slightly, touching her fingers to her forehead, then shuffled out of the cell.

Closing his eyes again, he slipped back into unconscious dreams.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

They had been standing at the campsite for well over half an hour, waiting for Senyca to find the trail again. It seemed, to Parck at least, that their quarry had realized that covering their tracks would hinder their pursuer's, which made their job that much harder. The blood trail was also gone, as were the admiral's distinctive military boot prints. "They were probably carrying him to speed up their travel time," Senyca had said.

Their growing lead was preying heavily on his mind, unbidden images of what the wounds could have been flitting past his guard in technicolor. Shaking his head, Parck moved around the site, trying to pick up something that would help, knowing that he didn't know what to look for, or how to look for it, but needing to do something vaguely useful. Crisis on a Star Destroyer he knew how to deal with; forests were out of his range.

Senyca bounded suddenly into their mist. She looked at Harryss and asked quickly, "What's the month?"

Harryss frowned, "Which one?"

"The deity, not the standard one."

"Oh," he said, thinking creating lines in his forehead. "We just ended Kaori, so we're entering Kamau. Why?"

She ignored his question. "So Kasim is rising tomorrow night, high at the next dawn after that, right?"

"Yes," the old hunter said, coming up behind them, leaning on his bow.

Parck looked at each of them, but no one seemed willing to explain.

"Where's Kasim's alter?" she asked, pulling her pack back on. The other hunters quickly followed, the Imperials a step behind them.

"5 miles north by northwest, as flies the _ahtaygio_," the hunter said, taking the lead with Senyca right behind him. Parck motioned for his troops to follow as he did the two hunters. He tried to get close to their guides, but they were moving too fast to keep up, speaking in their own language, gesturing at an ancient map that the old hunter pulled out of one of his pouches.

Harryss moved closer to Parck, noticing the puzzled frown on the Imperial's face. "Kaori, Kamau, and the others were the old deity's of the area. The calendar was broken into the 18 major deities before we switched to the standard calendar."

"It based on astrology, then?" Parck said, thinking of the "rising" comment.

Harryss nodded. "The lower deities constellations. It was a confusing system, one I never fully understood, but some of the old timers still use it," he said, gesturing ahead to their guides.

"Komani wants to bring the planet back to those times. Renounce modern ideas and customs, 'return to the gods'," Senyca called back, falling back enough to see that all were keeping up with the pace she was setting. "I think, Commander, that that is where is your Admiral is. The old ways demanded sacrifice, and who better to appease than the Chief amongst the Gods: Kasim, the Shinning One."

Parck swallowed. "Who better, indeed."

Two sets of strong hands kept his feet from touching the ground, making him float it place. They grasped hold tightly, as though afraid that if they did not, he would float away from their grasp, toward the faint light that he could just see…

He wasn't dead. He could feel the pounding in his head, and the sharp stabbing pain from the arrow in his right shoulder. Dead, he should feel nothing. Dead, with pain? Not possible. _Not fair_, a small voice muttered in his head, stubborn.

Beside which, the dead did not hear things, and someone was talking, making a speech, by the cheering. The cheering that did nothing for his pounding head…

With a sharp intake of breath, memory returned to him. The forest crash, the travelling with the remaining troops, loosing troops every half mile, the shot, capture and questions every time he tried to recover his strength. Slowly opening sensitive eyes, Thrawn caught glimpses of the stone temple, and several of the temporary huts before the leader was suddenly in front of him, blocking his view.

Komani lifted the captive's head with his hand, meeting the alien's eyes with his own. "At dawn you will be given," he said, "an honorable execution by beheading, as befits a commander of your rank and station amongst your people. To Kasim, the Shinning One, your spirit will tell of the glory that we reap in his name."

_Not likely_, Thrawn thought. No matter where he traveled, most cultures had some sort of afterlife mythology, and all had one common factor: we don't share. His own people had over 20 myths describing what would happen once last breath was drawn, none of which involved sightseeing around the mythical cosmos. He kept his face as impassive as he could. Covered in blood and gagged made that difficult, admittedly.

"Your death," the rebel continued, "will bring my generals and I much strength in the coming battle against your oppressive army of deceit." He leaned in closely. "I will learn much from you," he added, hunger lighting his eyes.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

As they walked through the arch leading to the outside, the brilliant light of dawn stabbed into his eyes. Unable to do more than squint against the brightness, Thrawn stumbled the last few feet to Komani's side, bound tightly and held even tighter. He had slept nearly straight through the night after another round of questions. It had taken longer to remember what had been happening this morning, to regain his bearings and time sense, a sign that his wounds were not healing, but getting worse. He felt like that sun in the east, hot and constrained by the ground… and by the hands that shook him roughly awake again.

"You will bring me much glory, my Silent Enemy," Komani purred in his ear, and stepped away, raising his hands to the growing crowd beneath them. "My allies, my friends!"

Parck inched the last few feet until he reached the one of the final trees before the clearing. Edging around it, he could see the leader of the rebels, Komani, addressing his followers, shouting a speech at them. Judging by the cheers, he must be a popular orator, Parck mused, glancing around the tree line. He spotted most his troops slowly getting into position, the hunters amongst them, evenly spread out.

"We were right," Senyca murmured in his ear. "Komani is dressed to kill. Those white robes he's wearing are ceremonial. The chest is kept bare to the gods, so that they may read a man's heart all the clearer. Practically, no sleeves to get in the way of the feast and the blood."

Parck snarled softly, "A feast I will not let them have." His communicator beeped softly. "Parck here," he answered.

"Vivisoma, sir. Troops are in position, but none have a clear shot at the leader. Orders?"

Parck narrowed his eyes, looking over the landscape. "Have the troops move up to the very last bit of cover, and spread out more. We need that shot, gentlemen, before that axe falls. Risk visual, even."

He supposed it was a priest or lesser prophet that brought out the overhand axe from within the temple. Before the guards had forced him to kneel at the large stone block, tying him securely to it, he caught glimpses of the weapon.

_That thing is bigger than I am. Going for dramatic overkill, are we?_

The axe was a two-handed executioner's weapon, with handholds two thirds of the way down the handle. The blade, scrollwork decorating the steel, was a good 3 feet in width. It would only take brute strength to lift the thing and aim it; gravity and momentum would provide the killing thrust.

Komani, it seemed, was a man of words and brawn, as he gave the axe a practice swing, making the blade sing.

Parck nearly swallowed his tongue when the rebel leader swung the great axe in a one handed grip. "You could slaughter a bantha with that thing," he muttered, glancing to Senyca – who was gone. Looking around, he spotted her a moment later, at the edge of the crowd, blaster hidden in the folds of her cloak.

No one was paying any attention to her. She was, to them, just another who had been taken in by Komani's vision. Moving along the edges, she looked nothing more like a small girl, trying to get a better view of the proceedings, standing on tip-toe here, bobbing on her toes there. Parck, from his vantage behind a scant bush, could see she was actually getting closer than any of troops to the altar, via the far edges of the group, nearest to the huts. Being one of them, she could blend in effortless, where the humans could not.

"Sir!"

Parck twisted to look where the trooper was pointing. Komani had stepped up to the block, axe being raised as he chanted something in a booming voice. "Anyone with a shot?! Fire!" As his troops moved forward, he knew they didn't have that shot. Trees, pillars of stone, masses of beings stood in the way…

Komani could feel the power of Kasim within him, as he raised the ceremonial blade high above the sacrifice. A few more hand width's worth and the blade would be poised to bring glory to his, and Kasim's, cause of glorious rule…

Senyca, directly in front of Komani from within the crowd, raised her own blaster. She murmured an old prayer, aimed, and fired…

The axe, obeying the laws of gravity and motion, fell.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

The axe vibrated slightly between the two stones it was lodged between. Thrawn watched it with idle curiosity for a moment before eyes slid shut once more… wondering how it felt, knowing that it had lost its prey by less a foot. Someone behind him, Komani presumably, had fallen to the lone shot, eliciting screams from the crowd. More shots were fired as the axe vibrated to a halt, embedded in the rock, never to be pulled out again…

He wondered vaguely if he would be living through this after all, or if friendly fire would do him in, as in so many tragedies…

As the forest troopers fired into the platform leaders, Parck began to breathe again. After Senyca had shot the leader, there had been a moment of stunned silence, Komani still standing above the intended sacrifice. He had wavered slightly, swaying as if in a slight breeze before falling backwards. Nerveless fingers had let go of the axe in mid-air. So close to the admiral, Parck had seen the hair on the alien's head ruffle in the breeze it had created as it slammed into the stone beside him.

Now, he shook himself a little, gesturing to four guards to follow him. Making his way as quickly as possible through the melee of natives and troopers, he kept his shots to a minimum. People, he had found, were less likely to shoot at you in confusing battles if you didn't shoot at them constantly. It was if they didn't see you, or thought you were on their side if they did.

In any case, he made it to the platform without being hit, which was all that mattered.

Confusing sounds flitted through him, making no sense taken together. As he struggled to tell what was going on around him, hands grabbed hold of his shoulders. He tried to shy away from them, but the ropes held him in place, tight to the block that was to be his death. One sound, (_a word?)_, kept repeating. He focused on that one sound, finally hearing:

"Admiral?"

The hands were removing the cords, slicing through the ropes with speed and efficiency. A vibro-blade, most likely. Sharp, without pulling or snagging as a knife would.

"Admiral, can you hear me?"

He knew the voice. Had heard it before, many times. But with the noise around him, it was hard to focus on any one thing. The pounding in his head would not allow him to. The hands had finished with the cords, and were turning his limp form onto his back, rolling him away from the block. The voice said something inaudible, and removed the coarse cloth from between his jaws.

"Admiral?"

The voice was fading as the pounding grew stronger, matching the noises around him. Eyes too heavy to open, he slipped beneath the waves once more….

Parck kept a tight hold of the admiral as four troopers made their way up to them, and lifted their injured commander. As they carried Thrawn toward the forest, Parck took a few quick scans with the hand scanner, frowning at the results. More cracks along the first fracture, swelling, along with multiple bruises, lacerations and chipped bones in the ribs and shoulder, it was amazing that he was still alive. Judging by the brief contact, a fever had set up housekeeping as well.

Back into the forest, he made sure that the troopers kept the admiral safe, returning to the battle. However, in the short time that pulling Thrawn out of the crossfire had taken, there wasn't much left to do. Many had fled as soon as Komani had dropped dead, and the rest had died quickly at his experienced trooper's fire.

Parck turned at the sound of his name being called. Senyca stepped to his side, blaster slung at her hip once more. "Is he alive?" she asked, gesturing to the admiral.

Parck nodded. "Barely. Excellent shot, by the way."

Senyca shrugged, but she seemed pleased.

Parck smiled slightly, turning his attention back to the battle at hand. His troops were running out of targets, and Senyca's fellow hunters had entered the temple itself to flush out any remaining rebels. They had experienced no casualties, either.

"It is the end."

Parck blinked. "Your pardon?"

"The rebellion. All the leaders were here. Komani, Kosumi, and Quaashie, the three leaders. The rest were local village elders and hunters being used as guards. No threat without the three." Senyca turned to face him. "You will not be here long, then. You will take your wounded and departed back to your ship?"

"Yes, very soon. The fatalities are already on their way back." Parck smiled and gestured to the forest. "You will have your forest back within 6 hours."

Senyca dipped her head, smiling slightly.

Parck was speaking to someone. That was who the voice belonged to. If he could just focus enough, he could make out a few words… he needed to know what was going on…someone else was with him…

"…grateful for your help…"

"…locals will take care of the hunters…"

"…reporting in, all clear…"

"…let her pass, it's alright…"

The voices blended again into the background, becoming a buzzing noise that he tuned out in preference to the calming darkness…

Parck raised a hand and repeated himself. "No, it's alright. Let the elder pass."

The old wise woman carried a large white bundle over one arm. Still shaking, she stepped slowly past the guard that had stopped her. Senyca stepped to her side, speaking softly in her own tongue to the woman. Words quickly passed between them, calming the elderly native down, ending with Senyca touching her forehead in an apparent traditional ending, as humans sometimes shook hands at the conclusion of a meeting.

The wise woman stepped to the admiral's side, seemingly clucking her tongue in disapproval. Unrolling the bundle, it was revealed to be a beautifully embroidered pelt of white fur. Shaking it slightly, she covered the admiral with it, touching fingers to forehead again before scurrying off into the forest.

"The pattern," Senyca said softly, "tells the story of Khaliq and Kekoa, brother gods. Khaliq the thinker, and Kekoa the warrior, victors over the monsters that plagued the village they grew up in, before taking their place amongst the stars to guard all the people of Ansi."

Parck bowed slightly. "How very fitting for him, then."


	12. Epilogue

Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Commander Parck idly swirled the last of the brandy around in his tumbler, watching the ship's light refracting in the green-blue depths. "All in all," he said, picking up the dropped conversation, "everything worked out."

"Certainly not by the book," Thrawn voice floated back from the other room. "Or," he added, walking past the hanging embroidered pelt back into the room, "in any way that I would prefer."

Parck chuckled, downing the last sip. "Indeed not." Getting to his feet, he finished doing up the last of the neck clasps of his own dress uniform, while looking at the admiral.

While still on medical leave, Thrawn looked more alive than he had for the last week. Even after four days in the tanks, he was still not completely healed. His right arm and shoulder were still encased in bacta-laden bandages, with the arm trapped at his side by a sling. No doubt, Parck mused, the Command Cook had been trying to feed him up, too, to put something on the too-prominent bones. The old cook always complained that the admiral didn't eat nearly enough, and lost the weight too quickly after bacta sessions.

"Need a hand?" Parck inquired casually, motioning to the dress coat slung over the back of the chair. At the other's nod, Parck proceeded to slide the sling off and slip the large coat over top. "You know," he said, "Dagon is finally starting to loosen up a bit. Actually attempted humor on the bridge." He slipped the sling back over the uniform, settling the arm in it.

"Oh?"

"Yes, although he still gets a bit snappish when things don't follow through as expected. A few more missions ought to take care of that, though." Finishing the last of the buttons, he stepped back. "Done."

Thrawn nodded his thanks, shifting the sling with his left hand. "Is the captain going to join us tonight?"

"Well, he can't exactly pull the sick card again, with you still in traction." Parck smiled. "Shall we head down to what will undoubtedly be a long, tedious evening of speeches and ill made food?" he said, holding the door open.

Thrawn smiled slightly. "Now, now, Commander. Think of it as informative," he said, stepping through.

Parck snorted, but refrained from commenting.


End file.
